


Run, Run As Fast As You Can

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First-Kiss, M/M, Pining, Possessed John Winchester, Pre-Series, Psychic Bond, Soul Bond, canon character death, first-time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Sam and Dean made a choice that day to run. Four years later, it all comes back to haunt them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2017 spn-reversebang. Thank you [](http://m14mouse.livejournal.com/profile)[m14mouse](http://m14mouse.livejournal.com/) for such an inspiring piece of art to work with.

  


 

 ****~~~~~

Truman High was six months ago in the rearview mirror and he still couldn’t stop thinking about his friend, Barry Cook. It was unusual for him to ever get the chance to make a friend, but Barry had been one, and not just because of the stuff with Dirk the Jerk either. Sam could see himself in Barry, the neediness, just wanting to be seen, or even heard. Barry had been someone he could eat lunch with since he couldn’t count on Dean anymore. It seemed like his brother was always with some girl or another in a janitor closet or under the bleachers. It was hard for him to hear the other students talk about Dean, how he was a bad boy and the girls should stay away from his corrupting influence. It was not hard to hear about how the boys (who were obviously jealous) wanted to _be_ Dean, because Sam knew the feeling. He wavered between wanting to be just like Dean or at least someone he’d be interested in.

It had been months since he’d gotten anything resembling a normal interaction from Dean, something had changed back at the “Home of the Bombers” good ol’ Truman High. That girl had messed Dean up, said or done something that had bugged him. Sam wasn’t sure how to help, or if Dean even wanted his help. Dean had been broody since then, he’d completely dropped out of school, and had been near silent especially when Dad wasn’t around. And that was when Sam needed him the most. Sam started acting up, or acting out, in all the typical teenage ways trying to get Dean’s attention, even the bad kind. But Dean’s heart wasn’t in it anymore, Sam barely got a reaction from him.

Sam could see Dean struggling to keep it together, _to keep them together_ , so he tried his best to help, tidying up and cooking dinner more than usual so that when Dean got home from the mechanic’s assistant job he’d been lucky to score he could relax. He’d joke and call Sam a good  little housewife, but he’d eat absolutely everything without too much complaining and then help Sam with the dishes. It became their nightly routine, and Sam looked forward to it. Because he could get Dean to talk when his hands were sudsy and Dean had something to occupy his body besides some girl.

“Dean, you got any idea yet if we’re staying here for the summer?”

Dean finished washing the plate he was holding, rinsing it and handing it off to Sam. “No clue, haven’t heard from Dad in a while and he hadn’t said anything before. Why, now you’re almost done being a freshman, you got some nerdy science camp you want to join?”

“No, I kinda wanted to get a summer job,” Sam answered, swiping at the plate and trying to watch Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean plunged his hands back into the soapy water. “Why? I’m already working, you don’t need to.”

“It’ll be summer, and I’ll just get bored. I already got a line on something, winter wheat harvest on my friend, Phil’s farm.”

“How far out of Palouse is it?” Dean asked.

“Well, that’s the thing, I’d have to live out there on the farm while we’re harvesting. It’d be too far to get there and back every day. I wouldn’t want to have to make you drive me all the time.”

“Think they’d have two jobs out there? I’m sick of the new guy Eric hired at the shop, and we’re almost up on the lease on this place.”

“You’d really wanna quit working on cars and go harvest wheat with me?” Sam asked, taking the last plate from Dean to dry with the towel printed with mushrooms with the vaguely creepy faces.

“Sure, why not? It’d be nice to work outside instead of being stuck under the hood of all the stupid-ass trucks in this town,” Dean said, pulling the drain plug and rinsing the suds off the edges of the sink.

“What’ll Dad say?” Sam asked, leaning against the counter.

Dean squeezed the sponge and wiped at the counter around and behind Sam, his body brushing against Sam’s back. “I’ll tell him when he calls, you find out from Phil if they can put both of us up and whether they’d have a job for me.”

“Thanks..uh…Dean,” Sam said, his words stuttering out because of his brother’s surprising proximity.

Dean stepped away and left the sponge on the edge of the sink. He crooked one eyebrow at Sam. “Okay…whatever, Sammy. We got anything sweet for dessert?”

“No, I didn’t have enough left over to buy us anything at the store last time.”

“C’mon, let’s go then,” Dean said, striding out of the kitchen area to the front door, he pulled the Impala keys out of his front pocket and jingled them at Sam.

Sam scowled at being beckoned like a dog, but he was excited at the idea of going somewhere with Dean. “Go where?”

“Let’s go get us some ice cream, I know a place by my work.”

“I have to finish my history final term paper,” Sam hedged, not sure why he was hesitating, because it had been ages since they’d gone somewhere just for fun, just because, just the two of them.

“When’s it due? If the answer’s not gonna be tomorrow, then never mind, get your butt in the car.”

Sam smiled at that and brushed past Dean on his way out the door, Dean’s hand swatting his ass a couple times which sent a strange shiver up his spine.

The evening breeze felt good as they drove along the empty streets, headed back towards town. Sam watched his brother’s face closely as the streetlights and car headlights shone on him, sometimes he was struck at how beautiful his brother was. This was one of those times, he wasn’t sure if Dean noticed him staring, and tonight he just didn’t care. The words were on his tongue to say something, but he stopped himself as they pulled into the parking lot of Marie’s Fresh-Made.

“This place is packed, guess it must be good,” Sam said, glad that the words that would have screwed up everything had stayed out of his mouth this time. He wasn’t glad about the way his voice broke on the word ‘good’ though, that was just embarrassing.

“God, that’s cute,” Dean said, smiling over at him as he turned the Impala engine off.

“What is?” Sam asked, assuming Dean was talking about one of the many teenage girls hanging out on the brick wall along the edge of the parking lot. He was surprised to find that Dean’s eyes were on him. He squirmed under the weight of Dean’s full attention.

“Your voice finally changing, ’s cute is all.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam said, a flash of annoyance flaring up, he slammed out of the car and scowled as Dean’s head popped up.

“What, you don’t like me pointing it out?” Dean asked with a grin.

“It’s not cute, it’s just stupid biology, and it’s not like I can control it or anything,” Sam said, his scowl deepening.

“Just means you’re becoming a man, Sammy, so I’m buying you the biggest sundae they’ve got,” Dean said, still smiling even though Sam was continuing to scowl.

Sam didn’t say anything, didn’t want to risk pushing the issue or bringing up any of the other changes that had been happening to him. He knew all about what to expect of course, having sex ed in several different locations had given him a lot of varied information. He’d had to check out some books from the library to verify that he was still normal even though he noticed boys just as much as girls. Unfortunately nothing he’d read had covered what being attracted to your big brother meant, so Sam tried not to dwell on it too much.

******

The wheat smelled so good when the wind came up in the afternoon. It was hotter than anything out in the fields baking under the strong, early summer sun. Sam tried to keep his attention where it was supposed to be, running the harvest machinery was dangerous, but Dean was there, and tanned and beautiful. He let himself look, just for a bit, until the next combine came in to dump their load in the truck.

Dean was looking off to the horizon, watching the combines drive through the ocean of wheat, the chaff and dust spraying up from each machine as it ate its way through the field. His brother’s shoulders were even wider now, he’d put on more muscle with all the physical work, as well as the enormous farm-style meals they’d been eating for the past month. This had been the most stable amount of food they’d had in a long time, and Dean was taking full advantage of it.

Dean turned as if he felt Sam’s gaze, and Sam felt caught, he froze and tried to smile, but Dean just bumped their hips together and grinned. It was like he knew Sam was looking, and that it was okay. Sam felt the familiar twist of disgust with himself, his feelings, the wanting that never seemed to settle, always rising up to dwarf everything else. Dean was everything, his whole horizon. He tried to breathe and not worry about what would happen to them. He knew that Dean would say everything would be cool, but Sam knew he’d have to leave, he would have to go off on his own and take his black and twisted heart with him where it couldn’t hurt anyone but himself.

The sun was finally starting to sink towards the horizon and a cool wind stirred the tops of the wheat fields, clacking the full seed heads together in an intoxicating rustle. Sam walked alongside Dean back towards the bunkhouse, he smiled as Dean patted the Impala’s flank as they passed by. Another enormous dinner was under their belts and they were taking a walk out into the fields because Dean wanted to sneak a cigarette. Sam hated that he smoked, it wasn’t all the time, but it was gross and he didn’t want Dean to die on him or anything.

The night was alive with insect sounds and the occasional swoop of bat wings. They walked along the edge of the harvested line, Sam ran his hand over the top of the seed heads that would be chopped off tomorrow and thought about how this couldn’t be a much more perfect night. He had Dean all to himself, and it was beautiful out here.

Dean halted abruptly, and stuck his hand out to stop Sam in his tracks. He brought a finger up to his full lips in the _shhh_ gesture and then pointed out to the field. There was a deep red glow with shadows moving in and out of the odd red light. Dean ground his cigarette out with one foot in the drift of wheat chaff and pulled the knife out of his belt while Sam grabbed his own from his boot. They crept closer to the light, taking pains to move with stealthy steps through the wheat stalks. As they came closer they heard terrible moaning noises, along with some growls. They didn’t sound quite animal, but they were deep and ferocious. Sam stuck close to Dean’s side and they finally stepped through the wheat close enough to see what was happening.

There was a man, a big man, swinging a shovel high above his head and bringing it down, pounding it into something that lay hidden at his feet. Each time he’d raise the shovel up he’d make the horrible moaning noise they’d heard and whatever or whoever he was striking with it would growl in pain. They heard no intelligible words just those awful sounds and as the moon rose a bit higher, Sam couldn’t believe what he saw. The man swinging the shovel was their father. Their father who they hadn’t seen or heard from in more than a month.

Dean had heard via Bobby that Dad had gotten the message about where they were living now. But there hadn’t been any further word about where or what he was doing. Pretty much S.O.P. for the old man. But there, undeniable, right there in front of them was their dad, killing something or someone with a shovel.

Sam tried to hold back on saying or doing anything, but a small squeak of fear managed to escape. Their father stopped in mid-swing, his body twisted and turned unnaturally, raising the shovel in their direction. His eyes shone a deep sick yellow, his face side-lit by the red glow of the lantern near the stilled figure at his feet.

  
“Dad?” Dean asked in a voice gone hoarse with fear. “Is that you?”

“Dean-o, nice you could join me, and you brought little Sammy too, that’s splendid.” The shape at their father’s feet moved slightly and groaned. A swift kick from their father’s boot at its head made it go still and quiet again.

_Splendid? When had their father ever used that word? Never._

Sam could tell that Dean was thinking the same thing.

“What are you doing out here, Dad?” Dean asked, voice a little stronger, he stepped a bit in front of Sam to shield him, that protective instinct kicking in.

“Just taking care of the family business, you two munchkins run along, I’ll come catch up with you in the bunkhouse. I’ll tell you all about it and then we can go get some ice cream and cookies. I know you’ll like that.” The thing that looked like their father gestured with the shovel back towards the lights of the bunkhouse. Its eyes flashed that sick yellow again, making Sam squeak with fear.

“Yessir, we’ll…uh meet you back there,” Dean said, stepping backwards and pushing Sam behind him. He grabbed Sam’s elbow and tugged him away from the bizarre scene.

As they moved through the field Sam felt his lungs constrict, like someone was squeezing his whole ribcage tighter than tight. He couldn’t breathe and felt himself falter and almost faint. Dean grabbed him around the waist and kept him moving back towards the lights of the farm.

“Gonna be okay, Sammy. Keep breathin’ with me, in-one-two-three, out-four-five-six.”

Dean kept repeating the mantra and Sam tried to cling to the words, make himself do what Dean said. Somehow his legs kept going and they made it back to the Impala, Dean unlocked the door and loaded Sam into the passenger seat.

“Stay here, I’m gonna go get our stuff, don’t get out of the car, keep breathing, buddy.”

Sam nodded, feeling the tears that covered his face go suddenly cold as Dean’s warmth left him. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to block out the image of his father’s glowing yellow eyes, killing someone with a shovel in the wheat field.

Dean was back in what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, he had their duffels and was stuffing a thick wad of cash into his front pocket.

“Earl paid us our last week’s worth in cash, he said to get you to the hospital. Told him you got hurt on our walk.”

Dean turned the key and started up the car, they peeled out of the dirt parking lot and sped away from the farm. At the edge of the field, the figure of a hulking man stood, shovel raised over his shoulder, the headlights illumined him just enough to see all the blood, splattered on his face, covering his hands and dripping from the sharp edge of the shovel. His eyes, burned yellow knives into them as they passed. He waved and gave them a one-sided grin that made Sam want to scream.

Neither of them said anything for a few long moments, the Impala leaping forward through the night as Dean got them away as fast as possible.

Sam felt his chest compressing in on him again, the fight for every breath beginning all over. He needed to hear his brother’s voice in the dark of the car, he needed something to tether himself to the tatters of reality that were slipping away. “That’s not really Dad is it?” Sam watched Dean closely, saw his jaw tighten in the under lighting from the dashboard lights.

Finally Dean tore his eyes away from the road and looked at Sam with a face that he’d seen before. This was Dean, hiding how scared he really was. “No, pretty sure it’s not. That’s why we’re leaving in a hurry like this. It knew our names though, so we gotta disappear for a while. You ready for a vacation, Sammy?”

Sam curled up on the seat and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. He couldn’t think of any words to say, he wanted to cry or scream or shout, but nothing could come out and no air could come in. The weight of Dean’s hand squeezing his knee in the rhythm of the breaths he should be taking the only thing that seemed real. Finally the blackness took him and he disappeared for a while.

**

Sam didn’t know how Dean chose where they ended up in Sonora, whether Bobby had been involved or maybe Pastor Jim. He didn’t ask Dean why he’d chosen a small California town on the foothills at the edge of the Sierras. All he knew was that they were finally settled down in one place, so he got to stay in the same school for the rest of high school. And more importantly that as far as anyone in town knew, Dean was his legal guardian and their dad was dead. They didn’t talk about that last part, it was an unspoken decision to not ever bring it up. There wasn’t anything they could do about it now, Dad was gone, and whatever had taken him over hadn’t followed them.

Life in the Sierra foothills wasn’t too different from how it had been before that awful night in the wheat fields. There wasn’t a big before/after difference for Sam to dwell on. He could see that Dean was truly struggling, working two jobs to keep them fed and a roof over their heads. Sam didn’t see him as much as before, he kept up with his schoolwork and made sure that Dean didn’t have to do anything around their small double-wide trailer. He offered to get an after school or weekend job, but Dean insisted he concentrate on school.

Weeknights he’d try to stay awake until Dean finally came home from his bar tending job, just to be able to feel the weight of Dean’s hand on the top of his head, feel the gentle scratch at his scalp as Dean stroked through his hair. He treasured this routine at the end of his lonely day, measuring it by the tone of voice Dean would use to say, “G’night, Sammy.” The echoes of that fondness and care suffusing his dreams and coloring his world.

On Saturday mornings, Sam would wake up late to an empty trailer, and make a lunch to bring to Dean at the Jiffy Lube. Dean’s face lighting up in delighted surprise every time made it worth the effort of biking all the way downtown. Every Saturday, Sam knew he couldn’t hide what it meant to him, so he just stopped trying. He’d grin right back at Dean, mirroring back at him the enthusiasm and joy at this little thing between them (that maybe wasn’t so little after all). The guys Dean worked with would call out teasing comments about Sam being Dean’s boyfriend. Dean would shut it all down with a quick, “He’s my brother!”

Sam would blush and hide behind his hair that was always too long now that Dad wasn’t around to bug him about its length. Dean would lean into him and elbow his ribs gently, “Sorry about them, Sammy, they’re just jealous is all.” Sam wanted to ask for specifics on that. What exactly were they jealous of? Being brought a home-made lunch, by someone that cared about you? Or was it something they could see, that Sam wasn’t able to hide? Sam got no answers to his unasked questions, but he did get the happy eating sounds Dean would make as he’d plow through the sandwich or soup Sam had brought them to eat. And it was enough, those sounds, Dean’s smiles kept him filled up enough to not ask any questions that could ruin the delicate balance of their world of two.

Most Saturday nights Dean would go out, unless he was lucky enough to pick up a shift at the bar. He had a solid rotation of girls he’d date, nothing too heavy or official, just enough to bother Sam. Jealousy wasn’t a good feeling to hold onto, but it kept him company those nights when Dean would be gone with a wink and a “Be good, Sammy.” He tried to go out on dates of his own, but it never went anywhere. It was like all the girls knew his heart wasn’t really into the whole thing.

No matter what had gone down on Saturday night though, Sundays were always reserved for them. Over the years, a ritual evolved of Dean’s pancakes and then a day hike on one of the nearby mountain trails, it was their version of going to church. They’d walk for hours along the granite cliffs, stopping for lunch with their legs dangling over the edge looking out at the forever horizon. Sam would talk about school and what he was learning, Dean would tell him stories about the customers at the bar or the shop. They were never more than a few feet apart, all day long, enjoying comfortable silences where they just rested in each other’s company.

Dean always insisted that they bring at least one of the weapons with them, either the crossbow or a short axe to practice with, keep their skills up just in case of the unmentioned coming to find them. Sam would pretend that he needed more physical guidance than he really did, just to feel Dean’s hands on him, guiding his body where it should be. There wasn’t anything more to it on Dean’s part, he knew that, but he fed that twisted black heart of his these little bits of contact just to keep it quiet enough so he didn’t have to deal with his feelings. He often thought back to that night in Palouse, when they’d gone out for ice cream and how he’d almost spilled it all into Dean’s lap and wondered if anything would have ended up being different.

It was on one of those Sunday hikes that Dean brought up the idea of Sam going to college for the first time. Sam had been dreading this conversation for three years, putting it off even after the recent meetings he’d had with the guidance counselor. She had gotten more and more detailed and excited about the possibilities for Sam’s future. He hadn’t wanted to upset the balance of his life with Dean, changing everything like that for a slim chance at college didn’t seem worth it.

“So…you working on any college apps yet?” Dean asked.

“Yeah….uh, got them all done with Ms. Wylie the guidance counselor at school. She wouldn’t leave me alone about it.”

“Glad someone else has to ride your ass about doing stuff.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just increased the length of his strides. He had been reveling in the physical advantage of his longer-than-Dean legs lately.

Dean huffed and puffed behind him, keeping up anyway. “Where’d you apply?”

“A couple of the UC’s and Stanford, she says I’ll get in to at least one of them, but that the full scholarships are even more competitive than getting accepted. And we both know I need one of those to even think about going.”

“Sorry, Sammy, I wish…” Dean said.

Sam noticed the sound of his brother’s feet slowing and then stopping behind him. Sam halted and turned around, Dean was looking off the edge of the granite cliff at the valley below, blinking furiously, hugging his arms around himself. “Dean, I don’t know what you’re sorry about. But you’ve gotten me to this point of even having these options, okay? What you’ve done and sacrificed for me, it’s not something we talk about, but I’m thankful, I really am. I just want to get to college, make something of myself, make you proud of me.”

Dean shook his head and stepped towards Sam, lifting his chin to look him straight in the eyes for a moment that filled with all kinds of possibilities Sam couldn’t even name. Finally Dean broke the silence. “Can’t believe I have to look up at you now, Sasquatch.”

Sam couldn’t help himself, he stood up even taller just to mess with Dean and smiled when his brother tried to do the same.

Dean put both hands on Sam’s shoulders like he was trying to push Sam back down to a smaller size, and took a noticeable breath to steady himself. “Sammy, I am proud of you already. But it’s not just about that, I wish…damn, I just wish it was all different somehow, that you had a more normal life. You deserve more than this, someone like you deserves better.” Dean kneaded at Sam’s shoulders, then moved his hands down to Sam’s biceps, squeezed them briefly and let go. His hands dropped and his head followed like he couldn’t hold it up under Sam’s scrutiny any longer.

“Someone like you deserves better too. Anyway, normal hasn’t ever been our thing, you know that,” Sam said, sliding an arm around Dean’s shoulders. Dean held himself apart for a few stiff moments and then melted into Sam’s chest. Sam wrapped both of his arms around the solidity of his brother, anchoring them both to the cliffside, to each other. He couldn’t control the impulse of his twisted black heart, so he murmured into the side of Dean’s neck, “I want you to come with me, wherever I end up going to school.”

Dean turned his face up to meet Sam’s eyes, searching to find any trick or joke that he might be hiding. Sam just smiled at him, patient, waiting for Dean to catch up.

“Really, you still want me around cramping your style?”

“That’s my normal, Dean,” Sam said, brushing a soft kiss to Dean’s temple, and holding him close, enjoying the surprise reaction he could feel running through his brother’s body.

Dean laughed into Sam’s neck and brushed his lips against the skin below his ear as he spoke, “We are a whole world away from normal.” Dean said the words almost too softly for Sam to hear.

Sam felt his brother’s words move through his body speeding towards the black twisted part of his heart he’d always struggled to keep hidden. Before he could do anything stupid that would ruin them forever, he stepped away from Dean and turned back up the trail, hiking off at a fast clip. Dean kept up without a word.

 


	2. Chapter 2

[Back to Part 1](http://smalltrolven.livejournal.com/95645.html)  
****

The small student housing apartment they ended up living in on the Stanford campus wasn’t really big enough for two men of their size. The place was really meant to be used by married students, i.e., couples, so there was only one bedroom with one bed. They had to wrangle campus housing to replace the queen-sized bed with two twins. The workers who came in to switch the beds out gave them all kinds of speculative looks that set Dean’s teeth to grinding. Sam tried to laugh it off, but tucked that funny expression on Dean’s face away to examine later.

Sam immersed himself into the new world of college, spending most of his time studying or going to extra classes. Dean found several jobs that kept him busy, working part-time at a classic car shop, bar tending late on the weeknights and occasional gigs with a moving company on weekends. With the housing subsidy from Sam’s scholarship they had more luxury and stability than they’d had in their whole lives. It made Sam feel so good that Dean wasn’t giving up his food to keep him fed. It was the little things.

A few friends found their way into Sam’s new life, a pre-med student named Brady, and an art major named Jess, both tall and blond and beautiful. Sam had several classes with each of them and ended up being study buddies with them both, which turned into an alternating casual friends with benefits thing. Sam tried to only have them over when Dean was out at his bar tending job, but sometimes Dean would come home early and he would have to spend the night out on the couch.

“Should have kept that queen size after all, huh, Sammy?” Dean teased one Sunday morning over his plate of pancakes, eyes flashing with something Sam couldn’t place for a while.

Sam just concentrated on finishing his own pancakes and didn’t say anything. He dreamed about it though, that expression of Dean’s, slowly he came to realize it was the look Dean had given him on that hike, back when they’d first talked about the whole college thing. At the time, Sam had been so focused on Dean’s physical proximity, he’d missed it, the extra softness in Dean’s eyes, that deeply hidden vulnerability. He stopped having sex with both Brady and Jess once he realized it was bothering Dean. It didn’t feel right to do that in their home or anywhere else really.

After giving up that physical connection with his friends, whenever Dean came home covered in the scent of perfume Sam tried his best to hold back his reaction, his brother deserved some joy after all. But it was maddening, the jealous beast inside of him growled _mine_ and Sam had to feed it with as many Dean hugs as he could risk without making his brother worry. He did notice that Dean didn’t do it very often any more, and postponed asking him about it until he could get his jealousy under control.

Sam’s dreams became dark and fiery soon after he turned twenty-one, night after night he woke up gasping for breath, coughing out black smoke that wasn’t really there. Someone was on fire, on his ceiling, just like mom. He didn’t say anything when Dean asked him about his nightmares, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t worry him even more. They didn’t feel like just dreams, but he didn’t know how to explain that even to himself.

It got harder and harder for Sam to concentrate on school when the nightmares came every night, increasing in their intensity. It felt cumulative somehow, all of the images locked together solidly into a horrific story, a fate that he couldn’t escape. Out of desperation, Sam got drunk one night, hoping to be able to get a dreamless night of sleep. Dean wasn’t home yet from his bar tending job, so with no one to stop him, Sam quickly polished off the rest of the bottle of whisky that they kept in the house more out of habit than anything else.

He didn’t remember anything until he abruptly woke up, too hot, soaked in sweat, wrapped up tight, contracted, contained in someone’s arms. A sound finally got through to his drunken brain, a familiar tone, soothing, along with the familiar weight of his brother’s hands in his hair and on his back. Dean was home, he was taking care of him. Loving him, like he always always had. He felt so safe, He knew Dean could keep him safe from anything, the fire from his dreams, their father with his horrible yellow eyes. The blood, there was so much blood on the shovel.

“Sssh, Sammy, c’mon, you’re okay. Don’t think about all that stuff, I’m right here, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,” Dean said in a soft, croon that made his insides happier than they had any right to be. That shriveled black twist of his heart soaked it up like a dry sponge.

“Mine, Dean, all mine,” Sam mumbled into the hot skin of his brother’s neck, clutching at his shoulders, holding him closer than he usually dared.

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah I know,” Dean soothed.

It got through to Sam that Dean hadn’t questioned it, or protested, just accepted the word _mine_ as how it was between them. “I mean it, Dean. ’s not jus’ ‘cause ‘m drunk,” Sam slurred, wishing more than anything that he wasn’t.

Dean didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move away or let go of Sam, just held him tightly and kept murmuring those soothing nonsense words that had always worked like a charm. Sam fell back into the dreamless sleep he’d been chasing.

In the morning he woke up before Dean, immediately aware of how very hard he was and how closely tangled together they were in his twin bed. No, they were in Dean’s bed, because the Zeppelin poster was over his head. Why were they there? Oh god. He remembered it all in a rush, drinking all of that whisky, collapsing into Dean’s bed because he’d missed him so much. At least he could smell him on his bedding, and then Dean had come home and he’d held him all night long. Sam realized that he’d slept all night, without waking up from a nightmare. But it had come at a cost, how was he going to ever going to explain what he’d said last night?

“Mornin’ sunshine, your brain woke me up,” Dean grumbled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Sam apologized, not thinking about what Dean had just said.

Dean gathered him in closer to his whole body, wrapping him up tightly again. “Go back to sleep, Sammy. Not time for pancakes yet.”

Sam felt it then, Dean was hard against him, they had slotted together perfectly and the small motion of friction made him groan before he could stop himself. He could feel Dean smile against the top of his head and then gasped in surprise when Dean pulsed his hips up in a gentle motion that felt even better than he’d imagined. He grabbed at Dean’s hips and pulled them in closer, pressing them together so Dean couldn’t mistake how much he wanted this.

They rocked together for a while, Dean’s hands moving up and down Sam’s back, tangling in his hair. Dean sped up the small thrusts of his hips, making noises that Sam wanted to keep forever. He felt the touch of Dean’s soft lips against his neck, then moving against his ear in a whisper that blew his world apart. “Mine, Sammy, mine.”

Coming down from the high of it, from having finally had what he’d always imagined, Sam wasn’t sure what to say or how to act. Shouldn’t Dean be freaking out or worse? Dean chuckled and kept hold of him.

“Guess I should have gotten that drunk a long time ago, huh?” Sam finally asked, Dean didn’t say anything, so Sam had to check. “You really okay with this?”

“I am. It’s been a long time coming,” Dean said.

“But, everything will change, what if—” Sam asked, sputtering when Dean interrupted him with a kiss that did change everything, almost instantly, more than getting off together had. The feel of Dean’s lips and tongue devouring his own finally satisfying the black twist of his heart.

Dean sighed into his mouth, “We’ll figure it out, just like we always do.”

****

Later that night, Sam remembered that he had promised Jess that he’d come over to her place to study for their Medieval History mid-term, and even though he didn’t want to go anywhere without Dean, not after the perfect morning and day they’d just spent together, he forced himself to go. When he got to her apartment, he heard the shower running, but she’d left him a plate of his favorite cookies. He laid down on her bed to wait and shut his eyes, replaying that morning in bed with Dean, only opening them when something wet hit his forehead. He opened his eyes, knowing already what he would see above him. He was in the worst of his dreams, Jessica was pinned to the ceiling, mouth frozen open in a silent scream, with a burst of sudden flames all around her. He’d only ever seen this part though, he’d never seen what happened next, what the hell was he even supposed to do? But then Dean was there, pulling him off the bed, out of the burning room and down the stairs.

After the paramedics and the firefighters and the police finally were done with them, Dean bundled Sam up into the Impala, getting them going back towards home.

“How, Dean, how did you know to be there tonight?” Sam asked, curled up against Dean in the Impala’s front seat.

Dean took one hand off the steering wheel and put his arm around Sam. “I just did, Sam, it’s a thing.”

Sam struggled out of Dean’s hold and sat up, leaning against the passenger side door. “It’s a thing? Wait, you have, what, some psychic super power you’ve never bothered to tell me about?”

“Yeah, it’s not much, seems to just work on you mostly,” Dean said with one of those infuriating shrugs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now. My friend just burned up on the ceiling, exactly like in my possibly psychic dreams, just like mom did and now you’re telling me you somehow knew ahead of time!” Sam yelled, feeling like he was losing what was left of his sanity with every passing second.

Dean winced at the noise. “I didn’t know about like you did, not ahead of time. But I knew you were in trouble. So I came for you, end of story.”

“You can read my thoughts?” Sam asked, forcing himself to try to maintain some calmness so Dean wouldn’t clam up.

“Not always, just when you’re yelling them at me,” Dean said, steering them into the driveway of their apartment building.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Sam asked, surprised at how hurt he felt at this revelation. He thought they knew pretty much everything about each other by now, but apparently not.

Dean parked in their designated spot and shut off the engine. He twirled the keys around his fingers for a long moment. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like we learned having psychic anything was ever a good thing, right?” Dean said, doing that answer with a question thing Sam hated.

“You mean you were worried what Dad would have done about it,” Sam said, imagining how bad it could have gone for Dean if Dad had known. Dad had hated psychics almost as much as witches. And yeah, he was thinking about Dad in the past tense, because, as far as they knew he was gone.

“Yeah, it was mostly that, but it was more that I didn’t want you to feel like, uh, like I was prying or something,” Dean said, holding the back of his neck in that gesture of hesitation he always used when he was spilling a long-held secret.

“What do you think it means, that I dreamt something that just happened, and you have some kind of psychic power too?”

“Not sure, but I have a feeling it has something to with what happened with Dad, probably Mom too.”

Sam gasped, because they’d never spoken about it, not in all these years. But here, in the safe insulated space of their car it seemed like it was finally the right time. “That mean we have to leave now? Like we did before when we ran?”

“Maybe, we have to be ready for that. But I want to go back to Jessica’s place tomorrow and look around before we do anything,” Dean said.

“But if it’s back, and it killed Jess, shouldn’t we already be gone?” Sam asked, heart contracting at the loss of his friend and the fear that ran through him at the thought of whatever had killed her being after them now.

“No, you’re going to talk to your professors about skipping classes for like at least a week so you can recover and we’ll decide after I’ve checked her place out.”

Dean opened his door and got out, slamming it behind him, decision made, that’s final. Sam sighed and got out on his side. Dean helped him out of the car, supporting him like he was an invalid. It felt nice though, to have Dean’s hands on him so he didn’t protest.

“Should we call Bobby?” Sam asked as they shut their apartment door behind them.

The phone rang then, which made both of them jump, the shock of the abrupt noise like a bucket of cold water. Dean answered and picked up the salt canister to refresh the line at the doorstep.

Sam let himself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He splashed cold water on his face and tried not to look at himself in the mirror. He undressed and took the hottest shower he could stand, washing his hair three times to get the smell of smoke out of it. He tried not to think about it—how the smoke was the last of his friend, a horrible reminder of how she’d died, and he’d never tried to warn her. He’d failed her, he should have done something. His tears washed away in the warm water and the next thing he knew he was being wrapped up in one of their bath sheets, Dean holding him as he sobbed into his brother’s shoulder.

Dean tucked him into his own bed, covers pulled up under Sam’s chin, his hand in Sam’s wet hair. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”

His brother moved like he was about to leave, but Sam whispered, “Stay, please.”

Dean shrugged out of his jacket, and kicked off his boots, slipped his jeans and shirts off and crawled under the covers with Sam. Dean smelled smoky but mostly he just smelled like Dean and it was enough for right then. _Home, safe, mine_ were the words and feelings that Sam fell asleep to, running through his mind and heart on a constant loop, either his mind or Dean’s he didn’t know or care.

Sam woke up a few hours later, surprised to see it was almost two in the morning, but he didn’t care what time it was. All he knew was that he had his brother nearly naked in his bed, in his arms and all that bare skin brushing against his own was driving him wild. He felt a wave of guilt about the loss of his friend and felt the tears threaten to return, but they were stopped by the feeling of Dean’s lips on his.

They kissed wild and passionate, then slow and steady, Dean slipping in words between their lips about how he had been so scared that he’d almost lost Sam that night. Sam reassuring him with hands and teeth and tongue. The moonlight came through their window and lit up their caresses with a soft light that reminded Sam of both the moonlight over the wheat fields and how it had shined over their trailer in Sonora.

Sam could feel his brother was as hard as he was, digging into his belly, he suddenly felt so empty inside. It wasn’t the black twisted part of his heart, that was all gone now, already transformed into the soft place where Dean belonged. “Want you inside me, Dean, need you there.”

Dean groaned and grabbed at himself, his hips bucking against Sam’s. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Sammy, god.”

“Please,” Sam moaned, rubbing his whole body against Dean’s, shamelessly soaking up the feeling of the shivers running through his brother’s body.

Dean pulled away from him then, digging in the drawer of the small table that was between their beds. Sam made complaining noises at the loss of contact and tried to pull him back under the covers.

Dean batted his hand away with a laugh. “Hold your damn horses.”

Sam writhed against Dean feeling unhinged with how much need was sweeping through him, he had never felt anything like this. And when Dean pressed a lube-wet finger into him, he felt himself come apart, all that space left inside him, empty, waiting for Dean to fill it. All this time he’d waited and wanted and he hadn’t known what it was and now that he felt his brother entering him, taking up all the space and air it was almost too much. He felt something between them shift as Dean rested inside him, waiting. The bond that they shared glowed in his mind and he could still see a reflection of it when he opened his eyes and looked up into Dean’s.

Dean’s face was transformed by the moonlight, unfamiliar and beautiful, coated in the softest dusting of light. Sam stroked one hand down Dean’s cheek as if he could feel the light, but it was just the soft skin of his brother’s face. That familiar, loved face became something even more.

“Can you feel it, Dean?” Sam asked, surprised that he was able to manage even those words.

Dean reached out and touched Sam’s cheek in the same way and nodded. “It’s like I can see your feelings or something.”

Sam felt his feelings harder at him, sending a wave of love and desire, all of it unchecked, nothing held back, there wasn’t any reason left, Dean needed to know what he meant. _Everything._

Dean’s eyes widened as the wave of feelings hit him, he seemed to breathe it all in at once, holding still inside Sam. Then his face changed from questioning to acceptance then joy. Sam could feel it, see it coming back at him, amplified. _Everything._

“Dean, you’re finally inside me, after all this waiting, I can’t wait any more.”

Dean planted his hands on either side of Sam’s head and thrust into him slowly, drawing out and pressing back in. Sam gasped with the feeling of stretching, overwhelmed with how much pain and pleasure there was all at once. He moved his hips in time with Dean’s thrusts, gasping at how good it was. Dean’s eyes never left his, and the steady stream of feelings coming through their bond was all tinged with desire and love, a heady mixture that sent Sam spiraling over the edge.

Sam came back to himself when Dean was cleaning him up with a warm washcloth. “You back with me, Sammy?”

He nodded, not able to speak, hoping that Dean could still see the feelings between them.

Dean slid back under the covers and wrapped him up in his arms. Sam laid his head over Dean’s heart and listened to it slow to match his own. They breathed in the silence, reveling in the feeling of perfect union. All those years, they had denied themselves the bond and attraction that had always been there between them, never letting themselves take each other apart as they’d wanted to, but finally they had. It was just them, together, they finally had everything.

And that’s when their dad walked in, the horribly familiar shovel over his shoulder. It had been four years since they’d seen those yellow eyes that were now flashing from the darkness of their bedroom doorway.

“Hey, Dean-o, if you’re finally done plowing the munchkin, we need to have ourselves a little chat,” the John-thing said, tapping the sharp edge of the shovel on the doorframe.

Dean sat up and managed to hide most of Sam behind him. Sam wormed one hand into Dean’s wrapping their fingers together and squeezing tightly. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Your dear old dad of course!” The John-thing chortled with unhinged glee, tapping the shovel again.

“I don’t know what you are, but you are not our father,” Sam said in a growl over Dean’s shoulder.

“Of course I’m not, Sammy, and you’d be the one to know better. I’m the one that sent you all those dreams about pretty little Jess burning on the ceiling. But Dean-O, you screwed it all up, roasting Jess was supposed to push our Sammy boy here off the beam. Damn if you weren’t there to catch him, boy! Hey, it worked with John back when I torched your mom.”

“What the hell do you want?” Dean asked, edge of steel in his voice. Sam sent his feelings of support into their bond, hoping it would help.

“Hell…hah! Funny that you mention it, Sam here’s got a big job to do for me in Hell. He’s going to lead my army, we demon-kind are going to get this shit-hole of a world ready for our Lord Lucifer’s return.”

“No, I Am Not!” Sam yelled across the room, his words pushed out of him in a focused blast of power he didn’t know he had. All he knew was that it was wrapped up and amplified with his bond with Dean. The power flowed out of the place inside him that had formerly been black and twisted, but was now filled up with Dean. It was a limitless source, powered by the love and bond between them. It was just what they needed, it was everything.

The thing wearing their father stumbled back as the force hit him. “I think I’ve got him, boys, say the words Bobby gave you,” their father said as the door slammed closed in his surprised face.

They heard the sounds of a struggle in the hall, their father’s body slammed into the door a few times, a cut-off shout that sounded a lot like he was in pain. “Hurry boys—!” Then the shovel began pounding at the door, battering at the handle but it couldn’t get through. Somehow, together with their bond and their father struggling from inside himself they were holding it back.

“It’s a demon, Sammy. That’s what Bobby said on the phone, he gave me an exorcism for us to say, if we do it right, it’ll send the thing back to Hell.” Dean quickly switched the bedside lamp on, grabbing up a piece of scrap paper with his neat scrawl and held it up for Sam to read.

In unison they read the unfamiliar latin words, voices twining together and becoming something else, something more. _Becoming everything._

As they finished the exorcism, the pounding of the shovel stopped abruptly and crashed to the floor. A bright orange glare briefly flared under the door, black smoke poured through the space under it, roiling along the floor of their bedroom in an oily flood and disappearing into the floor air vent.

Dean was up and out of the bed in an instant, gun in his hand and across the room. “Stay there,” Dean ordered as he opened the door.

Sam ignored him of course and peeked over Dean’s shoulder, his knife raised just in case at their empty hallway. Empty except for a bloody shovel and the completely still body of something that looked exactly like their father.

“Is it dead?” Sam whispered.

Dean knelt down beside the thing and checked for a pulse. “I guess so, yeah.”

“Is it just Dad now?” Sam asked, hating how the words sounded so final.

“Yeah, that’s what Bobby told me. He said the thing had probably already killed Dad and was just wearing him like a suit of meat.”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean, that he’s gone.”

“He was gone for a long time already, Sammy. And it’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Dad chased that demon until he found him, and now we’ve all sent it back to Hell where it belongs.” Dean stood up and pulled Sam into a hug, they both shivered at the coolness of the night air against their bare skin.

Sam let himself melt into Dean’s arms but then stepped away from him, intent on getting Dean to understand. “What it said about me though, Dean, it’s my fault. It wanted me to lead a demon army, and what the hell was that thing I first did when he told me that? I have no idea how I did that!”

“Calm down, it had to be the psychic thing we’ve got going on, right? I mean we kept the thing on the other side of the door together. It’s not just you is what I’m saying here, okay? And you heard Dad was fighting it from inside. We all did it together, you, me and Dad too.”

“Do you think we still need to leave?” Sam asked.

“I…I’m not sure, Sammy. I mean, demon army implies there’s more than one of these things around, right? And they’d be upset with us for sending one of them back to Hell. Maybe it’s better if we get out of here for a while until Bobby figures some of this stuff out.”

“Can we go visit him?” Sam asked, hating how he sounded like he was five years old agin, begging to go visit Unca Bobby.

Dean nodded and began pulling on his clothes. Sam watched Dean closely for signs of a breakdown, but he’d slipped into competence-mode to avoid dealing with any emotions. That’s how they’d been trained, and there would be time for grieving once they were somewhere safer. Or maybe never.

While Sam got dressed Dean dragged the body of their father into the bathroom, heaved it into the tub and covered it up with the shower curtain. Dean stood there, unmoving, staring at the body until Sam tugged at his elbow, gently pulling him out of the bathroom. Sam grabbed their bathroom kits, turned the light off and shut the bathroom door trying not to think about how wrong it was to leave him there, dead in the bathtub. He began packing his duffel bag with the bare necessities, leaving his school books behind was a lot easier when he remembered what could possibly be coming for them. Within fifteen minutes they were out the door and taking off in the Impala.

Dean still hadn’t said anything as they neared Sacramento, the car was too quiet without any music on and the feelings coming off of him in waves were so jumbled it made Sam grind his teeth with frustration. “Dean?”

Dean scowled and nodded.

“You’re not blaming yourself for Dad, right?”

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“If it wasn’t my fault, it sure as hell wasn’t yours,” Sam said, crossing his arms and glaring at the side of Dean’s face.

Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam could see his face soften slightly, the feelings coming off of him changed to a constant deep sadness. He pulled off to a gas station soon afterwards, silently going through the motions of filling up the Impala on auto-pilot. Sam bought them some road snacks and walked back, stopping when he saw Dean leaning against the car and staring up at the almost dawn sky. There were shiny tracks of tears running down his brother’s face. Sam set the bag of snacks down on the hood and pulled Dean into his body. Dean wiped his face against Sam’s shirt and actually let Sam hold him. That was a whole lot more than Sam had expected.

“We’re going to be okay, Dean, as long as we stick together,” Sam said, believing down to his core that he was right, that it was the key thing that they had to not fly apart into a million pieces here under the buzzing sodium lights of the gas station parking lot.

Dean looked up at him, eyes still filled with tears and nodded. He wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss that was both an agreement and a promise. That was all Sam had ever needed.


End file.
